


Shelter From the Storm (Refugio de la Tormenta)

by avid75



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, English, Español | Spanish, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Non-English dialogue, Oral Sex, PWP, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avid75/pseuds/avid75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and Claire run into one another unexpectedly, which leads to a cozy afternoon delight on a summer day during a storm. Speaking Spanish in bed is kind of their "thing" now. They have a heart-to-heart en español. They talk dirty to each other en español. Tengo la esperanza de que usted encontrará que es muy caliente. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter From the Storm (Refugio de la Tormenta)

**Author's Note:**

> I loved the variety of languages in Season 1, though it bummed me out that both Matt and Claire spoke Spanish but never _to each other_. So I fixed that. ;) Also included a hell of a lot of sex for good measure, because why not. So hot, these two... 
> 
> (FYI, my Spanish grammar is super rusty, so I'm open to corrections if something is a little squiffy...)
> 
>  **UPDATE: 6/14/15** : The translations of the Spanish dialogue are now here!! Just hover over the underlined text to read the English version. Thank you so much [kerys](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kerys/profile) for the brilliant suggestion to solve that problem w/out disrupting the flow of the text! :) (Also added a couple of bits of context because I'm never satisfied...)
> 
>  **UPDATE 2: 8/11/15** : Thank you "Silvina" for recon beta-ing my Spanish grammar, I've incorporated some corrections. YAY for grammatically correct subtitled smut! XD

They ran into each other at 51st and 10th. It had been gently raining all morning, but in the last five minutes suddenly it started to pour. 

Claire had a terrible week; brutal shifts, and she'd lost three patients in as many days. The plan was to work out her stress by going for a long run in Central Park, something she used to do often and this was a great time to stop slacking off. Of course, it had also been the kind of week when looking at the news and the weather became something you forgot about; when she woke up on her day off to the gloomiest of skies, suddenly staying in and cooking for herself sounded like a better plan. Swapping cardio for carbs. The heart wants what it wants, dammit.

She didn't have everything she needed, though, so she was on her way back from the 57th Street Greenmarket, in her slicker and rain boots with the big white polka-dots, a large slingbag full of fruit and veg over one shoulder.  It appeared as though Matt had avoided the warm summer rain in the gym, with a steady breakfast of punching bags, bench presses and dead hang pull-ups. She was the one who turned the corner; he'd been standing still, his head ever so slightly cocked to one side. After the momentary shock subsided, Claire realized he'd probably known she was approaching, even through the rain.  
  
Claire was still his trusted night nurse, and they had been fucking from time to time for a few months. But somehow they'd never bumped into one another in broad daylight. Until now.  
  
She stared at him, immediately aware of the transparency of her heartbeat in a moment like this. His head downcast, there was a sharp intake of breath and a soft curl of the lip that he tried halfheartedly to conceal; the raindrops were quickly soaking into the navy blue hoodie that was pulled over his head.  Claire bit her lip, acquiesing... stepping forward until Matt was under her big red umbrella, clear of the torrent.  
  
His cheeks were flushed. Without seeing his eyes behind his dark glasses, she wasn't sure how much of it was the post-workout glow or what she could attribute to their sudden closer quarters. Not that it mattered when all she wanted to do was taste the salt of his perspiration, gently score his skin with her teeth...  
  
Someone had to break this god damn silence.  
  
"Hi, I'm Claire!" she said, comically effervescent; Matt snorted in spite of himself, hoisting his gym bag higher on his shoulder and shaking his head. She continued: "You look like a nice guy, wanna come over? It's dry at my place, and I'm making pasta."  
  
Matt licked his lips, playing along. "Matt. Look, I think I need a shower before I think about food and..."  
  
"I have one of those too! We're gonna get along _great_ , let's go." Claire tugged at the drawstring on his hoodie and confidently strode past him. She might not have hearing like his, but the wet patter of his gym shoes and tip-tap of his cane behind her made her break out in an anticipatory smile.

Shit. _His cane._

 _“I'm not supposed to know where I’m going,_ remember?” Matt said as he grasped her arm, ducking back under her umbrella. So much for not getting flustered.  


“ _Lo siento_, stranger,” Claire answered, and leaned into his shoulder. Just barely.

\--------  
  
Matt's cheeks were also flushed nearly three hours later when, boneless and spent, they rolled apart. Tangled in the sage green silk sheets he'd bought her after she'd teased him about the ones on his bed, then openly admitted she just coveted them. Green was her favorite color, she said. Now his only memory of green — the peaceful sway of treetops and lying in the cool grass in the park when he was a kid — made him think of her. Anyway, he hoped the shade was okay. She didn't seem to have any complaints.  
  
" _Fuck_ , Murdock," Claire giggled, stretching sinuously and draping one leg over him. "I felt that one in my toes." On cue, she caressed his calf with her foot, peppering his chest with kisses. He hummed appreciatively.  
  
"Not bad for some sweaty guy you pulled in out of the storm, I guess," he remarked, gently scratching  the undercut side of her head with his fingertips; the rest of her hair fanned out across his shoulder.  With one hand, he reached over to the bedside table for two tissues, using them to grasp and dispose of the condom, ball it up and blindly toss it into the tiny wicker wastebasket under the table.  
  
"Mmm. Not like I haven't pulled you out of smellier places." She kissed his nipple; Matt's head tipped back into the pillow with a hearty laugh. He closed his eyes, still stroking her hair, every muscle in his body unfurling. The rain was steady on the window panes of Claire's new apartment ("It's smaller than the last one, but nicer"). He inhaled, exhaled, all the ambient scents of this perfect moment. The cut components of Claire's puttanesca sauce — heirloom tomatoes from the Greenmarket, olives, capers and peppers — still sitting in a bowl on the counter where she'd left it. (She _was_ going to feed him, only he'd sauntered up behind her fresh from the shower wearing nothing but a towel, and suddenly neither of them were exactly feeling peckish.)  Also the potted basil plant in her kitchen windowsill. The half-pot of cold coffee she'd forgotten to rinse out this morning. The fruit she had bought: Asian pears, incredibly fragrant mangoes. The lemongrass candle she had been burning the night before. She never burned scented candles when he was around, wouldn't even leave them out unless they had a lid. Matt adored her for that kind of intuition now that they were...whatever this was. He'd never had to _ask_ her for something like that.  
  
He was working out which tap in the bathroom was the one with the faint drip (the tub) when Claire's head lifted, the ends of her hair skating across his body. He quivered at the contact; she had been caressing up and down his torso, latterly inching toward his groin making him think she might try to jumpstart him again. Instead she reached his thigh and was now sitting up to examine how the wound she had stitched up a couple of weeks ago was healing. Where he'd taken a furious swipe from a meat cleaver so sharp it had pierced his armor in the kitchen of a Japanese restaurant. One where the owners weren't exactly making the bulk of their money on overpriced bottles of sake.  
  
"This looks good," Claire remarked, pleased with her work. Pleased with his; he'd taken the stitches out himself and hadn't left a trace this time. She kissed it, then placed a languid, open-mouthed kiss on the crease in his hip. Her warm breath against his skin as she smiled told him she enjoyed the pleasured look on his face.  
  
Matt's eyes fluttered closed as she dragged the back of one hand upward, over the planes of his body... up, up until her knuckles brushed the day old stubble on his chin. He took her hand in his own, drawing it to his lips to press a kiss into her open palm. Claire curled up like a cat beside him, her head on his bare stomach. (A more tender position; those silky, full breasts had been dangerously close to his cock a moment ago.) In turn, they each took a deep breath — Matt noting every smell he'd already recalled, plus Claire's own warm, sweet skin and the lingering, heady scent of their lovemaking. Claire's exhalation was different, though. It sounded... melancholy.  
  
"What is it?" Matt asked. He reached for the velvet throw pillow they had cast aside and propped himself up a bit. He didn't do it for himself; it would help her to see his face better.  
  
"What's what?" she answered,  feigning curiosity. Her head came off his belly and landed again, chin down. Facing him. He could tell when she took advantage of his blindness to steal long looks at him. Never said anything, because he liked it. Anyway, he was sure Claire Temple was so damned stunning he'd stare at her all day if only he could.  
  
"S'all good," she continued, drawing lazy figure eights around two of his abs with her index finger. "I mean, much better than good..."  
  
"Dime, amor."  
  
This was their "thing" now:  Switching to Spanish when they were in bed. It stemmed from the first time they finally slept together, a night on which he'd barely taken a scratch but the emotional and physical toll was so great he'd found himself at her door anyway. After she'd peeled away his armor, piece by piece, their first sex had been surprisingly slow, gentle and sweet. But man, the morning-after fuck was _fierce_. Claire rode him so hard, so good, unthinkingly she'd started to cry out in Spanish ( _"¡Ay, que rico.. ayyy si, voy a acabar!"_) When he asked about it, she'd smiled, nibbling the tendons on his neck and explaining that sometimes when her emotions overcome her, it just slips out. Matt knew Claire's mother was Puerto Rican, and mightily Catholic; it was one more thing they had in common, and he felt closer to her. Ever since then, in their most intimate moments, one of them would initiate it; usually it was Matt, but sometimes he waited until he hoped to get Claire to let her guard down. To trust him. These two, somehow they managed to still butt heads in between knocking boots...  
  
"No sientas que no puedes decírmelo, Claire."  
  
\----------  
  
_Dammit, Matt_ , Claire thought to herself. _It's gonna be like that, huh?_  
  
It wasn't that she wanted hide things from him. Least of all her feelings; from the very beginning, before they'd even shared one soft, breathless kiss in his kitchen, Claire had always made her thoughts on most things abundantly clear. And she knew Matt respected that. That he respected her deeply for acknowledging his commitment to this life he had chosen, and why he had chosen it. Even as he respected her own choice to keep her distance, to not get too close. Eventually, neither of them could maintain that distance; Claire had long since forgiven herself for not holding to her conviction. It was all too much. Matt Murdock was _too damned much_ , and she needed him. She needed _this_. She was stronger than she realized, strong enough to relinquish this magnificent man back into the shadows, where he could be snatched away from her at any moment.  
  
It's just... that hits home, sometimes. And you can't do anything about it. And it had hit Claire just now, as she was curling her tongue against Matt's tenderest of places... and she looked up to see _that_ scar. The one that had at last begun to flatten and fade, in excruciatingly small increments but all the same. And suddenly she was back in his apartment, sewing him up while Foggy, practially a stranger to her then, stood in the kitchen silently. Matt was half-dead and bleeding into her hands, and she was turning her head so her tears would fall to the rug below because she was in no position to wipe them away. She wanted _them_ dead. _All of them._  
  
Wordlessly, Claire ran a hand through her hair and then traced the scar in question. And then she spoke.  
  
"Casi te perdí una vez. Pero fue sólo un recuerdo," she explained, shaking her head. "Estoy bien." She watched his face soften, comprehending why he'd given her pause without knowing it.  
  
 "Yo no..." Matt paused, his brow furrowing, and he licked his lips the way he always did when he was thinking very hard about what he wanted to say. "Yo quiero que esto sea seguro para nosotros. Quiero que se sienta bien, tú no deberías verme así y pensar en recuerdos dolorosos..."  
  
"Mira, yo sé, Matt." Claire sat up completely now, straddling him then blanketing the length of his body. It made her heart flutter the way his hips rolled against the warmth between her legs, almost reflexively. As it was often difficult to resist at this distance, she captured those gorgeous lips between her own and Matt's hands immediately rose to cup her face. They took their time. _Dios mío_, the man could kiss.  
  
"Es sólo..." she breathed, against his mouth, nuzzling his nose with her own. "Ellos quieren matarte. Y a veces me preferiría que tú los mataras primero. Me asusta, pero es la verdad."  
  
Once she told him she couldn't be with someone who was so close to becoming the thing he hated. But this was the other side of that coin; this was them growing closer, and now her affection for him was informing her feelings about what he did. It upset her that he'd fight and fight until he couldn't take another step, but they were always willing to go that one step further. Matt pursed his lips, kissing hers and then both her cheeks, and both her eyelids in turn. Their foreheads met, and his hands were so warm and strong on the small of her back.  
  
"El hombre que me dio esa cicatriz? Él está muerto. Por mis manos." Claire folded her arms across his chest, rearing back slightly; he'd never shared the details of how he'd nearly been killed that night. She'd never asked. Never wanted to. She wasn't expecting this. Matt continued: "Fisk orquestó todo esto, y yo no podía detenerlo. Tengo que vivir con eso. Todos los días soy mejor en esto, pero nunca será fácil. Debo mantener una línea que no sea capaz de cruzar. Un pecado que me niegue a cometer."  
  
His voice was so clear, so resolute. No hesitation in his expression. Claire smoothed out the tousled hair across his forehead and rubbed her cheek across his breast bone. She slipped back to English: "He who is without sin..."  
  
He wasn't having any of it. "Oh, yo nunca dije _eso_. Hay algunos pecados con los que se puede vivir." Suddenly his right hand abandoned the small of her back for the curve of her ass, with a playful pat and a proprietary squeeze. And just like that, he brought it back. _Que chingon..._

"Ay. Mi madre hubiera dicho, un pecado es un pecado," Claire said, putting on a faint air of Sunday school loftiness that only made him grin, and his hands roam elsewhere. _Everywhere_. Matt cinched her waist, and flipped her onto her back in one deft, fluid motion. Dizzy with desire, she scissored her legs as he sprawled along her right side.  


"Y, qué piensas?," he asked her, in a whisper, planting a lush kiss just below her earlobe. Claire was aware of her breaths growing short as one of his hands clasped her breast, rasping the nipple as he continued to kiss down her body. " _Hermosa..._"  
  
Claire's mouth seemed to go dry even as her pussy grew wetter by the second; he'd only have to reach down to know. (Oh, who were we kidding? — _He already knew_.) She raked her fingertips through the smattering of fur on his muscled forearm, sweeping her touch up to his face. His head tilted up; those baby browns were pointed somewhere low, around her chin, but damned if they didn't sparkle when he "looked" at her.  
  
"Veo personas que se aferran a la vida, temiendo a la muerte, temiendo al dolor... todos los días," she told him. "Creo que la vida es demasiado corta como para negarte a tí mismo las cosas que te hacen feliz."  
  
Matt raised himself onto one elbow, smiling with such affection. _This is why. This is why they could never stay away. They understood this about each other._  
  
"Buena repuesta," he concluded, his fingers ghosting over her rib cage. Their hands found one another, fingers entwining. Claire draped her other arm over his shoulders. She knew what she wanted.  
  
"¿Y qué tipo de Creador concedería un regalo como el orgasmo, si no estaba destinado a ser gozado?" she asked.  Matt's eyes widened, his mouth falling open in mock alarm. She wasn't finished though: "Yo no creo que El Señor sea un pendejo."  
  
And then she guided his hand under her own, down into the sopping wetness of her core, and then Matt knew exactly what she wanted, too.  
  
He'd go slow at first, he always did; just his index and middle finger, tracing up and and down her slickened lips, pausing to pull away and stroke her thighs, just long enough to make her needier when he came back. Claire kept her arm on his shoulders, giving him rubs of encouragement, while she gripped the pillow with her other hand and let him work his magic. In turn, he lavished each of her breasts with attention... kissing, licking, sucking as her body arched upward and she gushed into his hand.  
  
"Estás tan mojada, amor," Matt panted, bringing his lips from her nipple to her mouth, kissing her hungrily. "Y hueles tan bien."  
  
Claire closed her thighs on his fingers, enjoying the soft groan it elicited. "¿Y que sabor?" she purred.  
  
Matt licked his lips again... _not_ because he was thinking about what to say this time. He leaned down, ever so slowly bringing his wet fingers up from where they were nestled and gliding them sensuously across her lips. Claire couldn't contain a moan, her tongue snaking out to taste her own brackish tang; she moaned again as Matt leaned down and licked into her mouth himself, trapping his fingers, twisting them slowly outward and leaving the taste of her juices to linger in their kiss.  
  
"¡Vamos, mas!" Claire sought out Matt's hand and placed it back exactly where she wanted it; momentarily, his head motioned downward but she guided it back upward and kissed him again. _Not yet._ He understood. The rain had kicked up in intensity again, and a thunderclap was followed by a siren in the distance. Still, the only sounds that mattered were their breathing. And their pleasure. At a time like this, Claire reckoned she would give anything to share Matt's gift and hear their heartbeats, too.  
  
Matt picked up his pace, still dancing around her now-swollen clit but venturing deeper, one then two long fingers knifing into her so deep it made Claire's thighs tremble. Her body began to undulate as he worked, her heels digging deep into the mattress; every so often he'd punctuate the motion with a long kiss, or a nip at her throat, or a quick lap at her breast, and the need began to tug at her loins like a straining cord, ready to snap...  
  
"¡Ayyyy, justo así!" Claire cried out. Mrs. Kaminski next door probably heard that one, but right now she just didn't care. Matt's thumb had finally taken a swipe at her clit and when her eyelids slammed shut, she saw stars behind them. She heard him exhale pridefully, the barest hint of a happy laugh, and opened her eyes to see his beautiful face, like the sun had just come out in the middle of the storm. He sought out her neck, kissing and licking as he carried on. Three fingers now, deeper and deeper, his hand positioned just so that she could grind her clit against the heel of his palm. Pressing harder... firmer... faster... _so good._ Claire offered the other side of her neck, turning her head so she could just glance over his shoulder to the vanity mirror across the room. Stealing an eyeful of his backside, every rippling curve of his shoulders, his back... _dat. ass._  Perfection.  
  
She was close now, so close. Matt was aroused again now too, his prick hot and insistent against Claire's thigh; she reached down to grasp him, velvety soft and yet so hard, and started to stroke until he shook his head "no." Not before her. Sometimes he could be stubbornly chivalrous. _Now, then, Matthew..._ She grasped his face and urged him downward, and this time he obeyed, repositioning himself between her legs and softly breathing against her center before he dove in. As though she were a ripe fruit, gently sucking and devouring.  
  
"Nnnnggghhaaah, _fuck!_ " Claire swore. And she gave herself over completely, writhing and sighing and stroking his crown as he licked and licked at her clit until she crested and completely came apart. She took a few moments to catch her breath... Matt continuing to kiss her down there, as attentively as he would kiss her on the mouth. At last, she sighed dreamily and stretched out both arms.  
  
"Venga," she urged him. Matt clambered over her with the most precious shit-eating grin on his face; Claire reached for his cock, now so hard it was practically flush with his groin. "Dámelo," she instructed; he settled back into the pillows and let her engulf the full length of him in her mouth. Matt hissed and grunted, caressing her cheek; she took all of him, so deep. Claire had always privately been somewhat proud of her resilient gag reflex, but with Matt it was hardly an issue to begin with; he tasted so good, so musky and salty and sweet all at once. And usually his stamina was pretty great, but after all that had just come before she knew he wouldn't last; within moments, he exploded into her mouth with a long, pleasured moan.  
  
Claire let him lie there, gathering his senses, as she swallowed and then craned her body off the bed and fumbled around on the floor. She found Matt's gym bag, snatching the brushed steel water bottle he kept in the side compartment and bringing it back with her. Raising it up to her lips, she quenched her thirst. Naturally he knew exactly what she was doing, chuckling softly as he reached for the tissue box again.

“La gaveta,” Claire said. Matt opened the bedside drawer, rummaging and finding a small bottle of hand sanitizer. She passed him the water bottle as he cleaned his hands.

"Ay, pero mi mamá no podría perdonarme esto," she panted. Matt's eyebrows furrowed again as he drank, adorably this time. Like a confused puppy. 

"¿Qué quieres decir?" he asked.  
  
"¿Qué quiero decir?" she echoed, taking the bottle from his lips and replacing it with her own. She tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth and he whimpered.  
    
"¡Dejar que el diablo juegue con mi chocha, eso quiero decir!" Claire replied, and they both burst out laughing. Matt enveloped her in his arms, rolled her over again and dove in for another kiss... until...  
  
_" >> FOGGY... FOGGY... FOGGY... FOGGY... <<"_  
  
Matt winced, with an exasperated exhale. "Naturally."  
  
"His timing _is_ getting better, though," Claire emphasized. She caressed his cheek as he sat up, kissing her between her breasts on the way.  
  
"Everyone has a skill," Matt wisecracked, sitting up to rummage for his phone and answer the call. Claire got up behind him, ruffling his hair and kissing the nape of his neck, whispering "I'm _starving_ " into his ear as she clambered off the bed.  
  
"Hey, what's up?... No, I was at the gym, this morning.... I, uh... I ran into somebody." He was tugging his underwear on as Claire came back in her satin robe, leaning into the crook of Matt's neck where he held the phone.  
  
"Blame me, Foggy, it's my fault," she deadpanned, thumbing Matt's chin and leaving him to put Foggy at ease. She walked back to the kitchen, washed her hands and resumed her dinner prep: Getting the crushed garlic out of the freezer, drizzling olive oil into a pan. No longer focusing on what Matt was saying as he dressed, not until he was closer and zeroed in directly on both the wine bottle on her counter and the corkscrew, hanging on the wall nearby.  
  
"Nah you got this, man," he told Foggy as he uncorked the pinot noir. "If there's an emergency, though... You know where to find me."  
  
Claire smiled to herself and lit the pilot on the stove. _You know where to find me._ She liked the sound of that, maybe a little more than she expected to.

###


End file.
